A/N: Ok guys. Forgive me. For those of you following my other story, Cold Fluorescence, never fear. I'm still working on it! However, I am currently doing a playthrough of ME3, and the ol' noggin started turning gears and well...here I am with the first chapter of my fanfic spanning ME3 and beyond. If you're still waiting for new chapters of my other story, you won't have to wait long. I'll be wrapping it up in another three or four installments.

If you're just joining the party, never fear. This piece mostly stands alone. I will be adding more OCs as things progress, and you can expect the first few chapters to be mainly from Garrus' POV, since doesn't everyone want to know exactly what he was up to while Shep was locked away? I know I do!

Disclaimer: Bioware owns the characters, ect.

Your absence has gone through me

Like thread through a needle.

Everything I do is stitched with its color.

Separation, W. S. Merwin

I: Thread Through a Needle

The trial was, in so many words, a political shitstorm.

She was all but dragged away from the Normandy in handcuffs, escorted by six marines in full-body armor. Whether for her protection or theirs, she wasn't sure. From the Citadel, she was shuttled to Earth. Alliance North American Headquarters to be exact. Vancouver was beautiful, at least for the two minutes she saw of it as she was marched between buildings and into a holding cell.

A flurry of scientists and Alliance personnel visited her over the next few days; the scientists taking blood and tissue samples, testing her reflexes, making notes. The Alliance personnel were of the psychologist variety. She had nothing to say to them, and spent the hours they attempted to speak with her silently singing old Earth songs in her head. She never lowered her eyes, instead focusing on a plain square of wall over the shrink's shoulder. She never showed any sign of weakness. She was Ahyoka Shepard, Alliance marine, Savior of the Citadel. She had defeated death, the Collectors, and her past. No amount of physiological prodding would break her. Her mouth was kept firmly shut, and for three weeks she spoke to no one, not even Anderson. Her throat grew raw from the pain she held back, but she did not cry. Garrus would have been disappointed in her if she had.

The Batarian Hegemony was demanding blood. The Alliance, pulling its metaphorical head out of its ass and finally deciding to stand up for one of its most decorated marines, put as much muscle behind her as they could muster. In the end, the Alliance came out on top, and once the Hegemony had packed up and headed home, no one seemed to know quite what to do with Shepard. She was a grenade with the pin removed that nobody wanted to be responsible for holding. Somewhere along the chain of command, Anderson decided that they best way for Shepard to continue to stay safe would be for her to remain in Vancouver, under guard. Indefintely.

For the first two weeks of her incarceration, Shepard decided it wouldn't be that bad.

Her room (cell) was large, like a studio apartment. There was the comfy bed, a bookcase sagging under the weight of all the novels waiting to be read. Her window even opened to let in the occasional cool breeze.

After the first two weeks of her incarceration, Shepard began to hate everyone.

Lieutenant James Vega had been assigned to oversee (guard) her during her time under lockdown. He was something of an anomaly to her; easily over 200lbs of pure honed muscle, and most likely a very capable soldier. He was funny, in a way that bordered on what some would consider flirtatious, but Shepard could see he had a soft side to him as well. It took her three weeks to actually acknowledge his presence, and she smothered a laugh when he jumped at the sound of her voice.

After establishing a mutual respect for each other, Vega began sending covert messages to some of Shepard's outside contacts, namely Liara and Kasumi. When she had surrendered herself, Alliance had removed her omni-tool implant and restricted her personal terminal access to strictly e-books. No messages in, no messages out. Vega, however deep his loyalty for Alliance ran, had more respect for Shepard, and considered her incarceration as an insult to everything she had done. She knew he wasn't totally sold on the idea that a powerful sentient race hell bent on the destruction of humanity was lurking somewhere out in deep space, but he respected her for all she had done prior; the Skyllian Blitz, Elysium, serving under Anderson.

The messages were few and far between; being the Shadow Broker kept Liara busy, but was also invaluable when information was needed. Shepard had Kasumi trying to keep tabs on Garrus, to make sure he was safe, but strictly under the radar; she was worried about his guilt by association. The thief was already on the Citadel, probably wreaking havoc at the many casinos there. Her brief and rare messages were always the same; Garrus had returned to C-Sec (again), where he tried to rally as many people to Shepard's cause as possible.

However, during the second month of her incarceration, Vega stopped by her room with an urgent message from Kasumi: Hierarchy called; Palaven-bound. No contact established, will let you know when I have more info. Shepard knew it was a possibility that Garrus would return home to visit his family; his mother was terminally ill, and he had yet to see her since leaving C-Sec to take down Saren. But the Hierarchy calling him home…a million half-formed scenarios swam through Shepard's head, none of them solidifying into anything more than nonsense. Kasumi's message had been heavily encrypted and routed through a comm buoy, meaning she too had left the Citadel. Since becoming the Shadow Broker, Liara was never in one place for very long, which made her impossible to reach. Shepard had resorted to sending coded messages to her work terminal, hoping nobody would break through the encryptions. By default, Shepard knew Liara wouldn't respond or send messages from her personal omni-tool; the data packet could be traced back via comm buoy or extranet connection. It was too big of a risk. Frustrated, Shepard sent a message to Liara, or rather Liara's assistant, asking her to look into Garrus' departure.

Three long weeks later, Liara was able to respond back.

S,

The turians are gathering forces; half of C-Sec was called back to Palaven. My sources there say there was a terrorist attack on their colony world Taetrus; a separatist movement commandeered a ship and crashed it into the capital. Casualty rates are over 100,000. Acanthus Vakarian has come out of retirement and has been acting as Advisor to the Primarch. I'm sorry, that's all the information I have. Somewhere in transit I was unable to get messages through to Garrus' omni-tool. I have people looking, but their security is so tight I'm not sure how long it will take to get news. Will keep you updated.

L.

Shepard sat down on her bed, brow knotted together. It wasn't like Garrus to just up and change his omni-tool code, especially with Liara being his only contact to Shepard. She ran a hand over the side of her neck, massaging the mark left there.

"You don't look very good, Lola," Vega mused, leaning his bulky frame against her bookcase.

"One of my old crew is MIA," she replied, leaning her elbows on her thighs. "And this is a hell of a time to go missing."

Garrus was wearing the carpet of his Citadel apartment thin. It had been an exceptionally stressful day; the turian was having a difficult time pushing conversations about "galactic readiness" and "fraud" and "shock story" to the back of his mind. His pacing steps were heavy, as he hadn't bothered to remove his boots upon returning home from his rather unsuccessful meeting with the salarian councilor.

Since Shepard's surrender over two months ago, the Normandy crew had disbanded; some of the Cerberus team (no longer Cerberus), to various drop-off points arranged for them. The non-human members obviously couldn't be held as terrorists by the Alliance, and so Tali returned to the migrant fleet, Grunt to Tuchanka, and Garrus to the Citadel. Legion had gone into hiding somewhere, to avoid detection by anyone less-than-understanding.

In a more private moment between Shepard and Garrus the night before she surrendered herself over to the Alliance, he had promised to continue rallying support of the fight against the reapers, even in Shepard's absence. Neither of them knew the severity of the charges against her, nor what would happen if she was found guilty in some way. And so they had parted on the Citadel, Shepard being escorted away in handcuffs by a handful of Alliance marines.

Garrus was unsure of the extent of the promises made between them. They had never defined where exactly they stood, with Shepard's trial hanging heavy over them. He knew it was her way of protecting him; giving him an out if things went sideways and she ended up being court martialed or put to death. However, that didn't stop him from feeling as if half of himself was being taken away at the hands of Alliance marines.

It had been over a month since his last update from Liara regarding Shepard's well-being. The illusive asari had been swallowed by her Shadow Broker responsibilities, and her covert operations demanded a higher level of security and secrecy than Garrus enjoyed dealing with. As much as his fingers itched to send her a message asking what the hell was taking so long, the practical area of his mind gently reminded him that he didn't have Liara's omni-tool code.

A shrill pinging noise halted his linear progression across the living room. The personal comm terminal was alerting him that someone was requesting a vid call. His heart leap briefly with a miniscule flutter of something akin to hope, but promptly plummeted to his feet when he saw the identity of the caller.

Acanthus Vakarian was requesting an audience with his eldest child.

Garrus considered ignoring the call, finger hovering over "end", but three years hiatus from his family clenched him in a vice grip of guilt. The call connected.

"Son," Acanthus said gruffly. The older turian was the spitting image of Garrus; steely grey plates, blue clan markings, proud fringe. Garrus noted he looked older, and tired, as if a heavy weight was pressing down on him. "I've booked you a charter to Palaven. You leave tomorrow at 0900. Docking bay F32."

"Hello to you too, dad," Garrus said sarcastically. "How nice of you to invite me home."

"Have you seen the news?" Acanthus replied angrily, shaking his head. The holo projection blurred slightly with his violent movement. "There was an attack on Taetrus. Over 100,000 dead."

Cold seeped into his veins. "What? Who? How?" Garrus half rose from his seat in from of the comm terminal, hands gripping the arm rests tightly. Reapers? Already? He had to get to Shepard.

"Terrorists. Separatist movement stole a freighter and crashed it into the capitol. Fedorian pulled me out of retirement, has me advising him. I need you here to look after Solana and your mother. And also, they're offering you a position here in Cipritine."

Garrus shook his head angrily and sat. The last thing he wanted to do was leave the Citadel, especially since it was where he promised to meet Shepard after her release...if she was released. With no way to contact her, leaving would be like deserting her.

"Dad I just can't up and leave my job again," Garrus plead.

"They're calling back anyone who is military reserve. I'm betting half of your C-Sec coworkers will be on your charter flight tomorrow morning. You're coming home, son. This is where you need to be." Acanthus cut the vid feed, leaving Garrus to stare angrily at a blank screen.

Deep down, he knew he didn't have a choice. His mind wandered to Solana and his mother; with a sharp pang of guilt he recalled the last conversation he had with his sister, not long before they hit the Omega 4 relay. Solana had been so upset with him, understandably. Their mother's illness was a dark cloud hanging over the family.

With a heavy sigh, he started to pack.

Palaven was hot.

His father had been right; several of his coworkers had been on the same charter flight he had taken from the Citadel. The atmosphere in the small ship had been tense and electric. Several of his fellow turians had family or friends on Taetrus, and he felt as if the ghosts of those victims were very much present. It didn't help that their reentry into Palaven atmo had been filled with high winds and chop; the charter ship had finicky mess effect generators, and Garrus found himself pining for the sleek, sure feel of Joker's piloting skills. Eventually, they had disembarked at a shuttle station in Cipritine, Garrus blinking in the blinding sun.

"Garrus! Over here!" His sister, Solana, tall and lean, rushed to him from the waiting queue, nearly knocking him over.

"Sol!" he exclaimed, dropping his luggage to accept her greeting. She clasped his forearms tightly, bumping her forehead against his. She had grown, or rather aged, in his absence. The soft folds of silver fabric artfully draped over her frame shimmered slightly in the light, making her look as if she was constantly in motion.

"What the hell happened to your face!" she spat, pulling away and holding him at arms length.

"If you think this is bad, wait until you see the other guy," Garrus quipped, dodging around her to hail a cab. Solana punched his arm in jest. He was wearing the scuffed blue armor that was a favorite of Shepard's, and Solana's glancing blow may as well have been a feather brushing against him. The waiting area was teeming with nervous energy; families gathered to receive loved ones safely. The crowd made him claustrophobic and jumpy. They hadn't allowed him to carry any sidearms on the charter flight due to tightened security measures. He felt vulnerable, and his finger itched for the reassuring metal of a trigger.

"That's not a good enough answer. You leave home, quit your job, play hero, get your job back, quit your job, fall off the face of the earth, get your job back, and now you're here. I think I deserve to know where you've been!"

The cab slid up smoothly, and Garrus threw his luggage in the back seat before climbing in. Solana followed, an angry look on her face.

"Sol, I can't really tell you right now," he said carefully, fingers flying over the controls, setting a course for home. "I will, eventually. I promise. But right now, I just want to get home, see mom, and deal with dad."

Solana had the grace to look sheepish.

"Hmm yes. Good luck with that. He's had three years to stew about how you're a terrible turian."

Garrus laughed gruffly.

"So I figured."

The Vakarian house was settled on the edge of Cipritine, where booming metropolis gave way to rolling hills. Low stone walls and long, thick tile roofs stretched over treated glass. The home had once been something of a cottage dug into the side of a hill. In more recent times, newer generations of Vakarians had expanded the modest abode into a sprawling estate with clean lines and a more open floorplan. Garrus could see twin trees growing tall past the turf of the dugout roof; his mother had been partial to gardening, and Acanthus had gifted her with a large courtyard attached to their master suite. The trees had been planted separately; one for Garrus' birth, and one for Solana's. Their sweeping branches provided shade, and, in his younger days, a place for Garrus to escape the wrath of his father among the canopy.

"He's probably not even home," Solana said quietly as the cab came to a halt in front of the house. "Fedorian has kept him busy."

Garrus said nothing. He exited the car and retrieved his luggage from the back, pushing down the feeling of foreboding that was creeping up his spine. Taking a deep breath, he focused on walking through the doorway and not smashing his luggage against the door frame.

The house was as he remembered it; white, clean and sparsely decorated. Modern furniture populated the sitting area, and the large kitchen was still open and airy. Sunshine slanted in through the windows, dust motes dancing on a slight breeze. He felt a brief pang of homesickness; after running for so many years, it felt good to come back to his home.

"I got your old room ready for you," Solana said, breezing past him down the hall. "Mom will probably be awake from her nap soon, if you wanted to say hello. She'll be ecstatic to see you."

Garrus followed her meekly, crossing the threshold to his childhood domain. Luckily, as some point during his absence someone had replaced his teenage sized bed with a more practical adult sized one. He threw his luggage onto it with a thump and went to find his mother.

His parent's suite was located in the original dugout part of the house. The room was bright, with large picture windows made of thick, treated glass to keep out the radiation. His mother was sitting in bed against several pillows, draped in a thick blanket. Solana was next to her in an armchair, data pad in hand.

"Hi mom," Garrus said softly from the doorway. He teetered on his toes, not sure how to proceed.

"Don't just stand there like a lost pyjack, Garrus," Aella Vakarian quipped from her bed. "Come give your dear old mother a little love."

Garrus smiled and crossed the room to grasp his mother's forearms, bumping his forehead against hers.

"And here Solana made it out that you were quiet and tired," he said, sitting in a chair next to the head of the bed.

"I am not quite the invalid your sister makes me out to be. I think she's jealous that I get to lay in bed all day on doctor's orders while she slaves away at work." From the chair opposite him, Solana smiled and shook her head, not looking up from her data pad.

"Now, son," Aella continued, leaning over to cup the injured side of his face in her hand. "Do tell me where you got this. And I swear, if you tell me it was a bar fight, you are disowned." She gave him a wink.

"Uh. Hmm," he said, scratching his fringe nervously. "Mishap with a…job I took."

"Uh huh," Aella replied, leaning back against her pillows. "A mishap. Well, at least you're here, whether you like it or not. I hear your commander is incarcerated in Vancouver."

Solana made a discontented noise, and Garrus stiffened. "Yes," he replied slowly. His family had no knowledge of just how close him and the commander were, and he wasn't ready to cross that bridge without Shepard there to back him up. He tugged at the collar of his under suit, making sure it was covering most of his neck. "The batarians are out for her blood, and Alliance thought it best to keep her on Earth until the situation is…resolved."

"Brave girl, that Shepard. I've seen the vids. Fiery. It's about time humanity has someone with a bit of sense."

Garrus allowed himself to relax. "She's very capable. Hell of a soldier, even better as a commander. It was an honor to serve under her, as it will be again when they release her." Many long-dormant feelings began to swirl the the surface of his consciousness and he fought to keep them at bay. Now was not the time to analyze suppressed emotions.

Aella appraised him, cocking her head. "Yes, the reapers. Between that and the attack on Taetrus, I'm not sure what to think of the state of the galaxy right now." She shook her head sadly. "If you trust Shepard's judgment, then I trust you. You may have erred on the side of 'rebel', but you sure do know how to follow your heart. You get that from me, you know. That and your breathtaking good looks." She gave him another wink.

Solana laughed, looking up from her data pad. "I'm sure he gets all the ladies with those scars."

"Solana, be nice or don't speak," Aella said, no unkindly. Solana scowled and went back to her work, muttering to herself. "You should see about getting those missing clan markings redone. You should be able to do something over the scarring. Can't have you looking like half a Vakarian," she said lightly, patting his cheek. "I'll have Solana help you do it."

"Thanks, ma."

"I think the boy has more pressing responsibilities than fixing his face," came a gruff voice from the doorway. Acanthus stood on the threshold, arms by his sides and hands tense, a sign of dominance. "Garrus, my office. Now." He turned on his heel with military precision and left.

"Fedorian has been working him ragged," Aella said soberly, fixing her sad gaze on her son. "But you know your father. Just let him get it off his chest and he'll be done with it."

Garrus sighed. Something made him think this wasn't going to be a welcome home chat.

Acanthus Vakarian's office was dark, cold and filled to the brim with various family heirlooms. Several ceremonial weapons and war banners hung from the walls, along with certificates of awards he had won during his time in the military. A huge stone desk took up the center of the room, the elder Vakarian was seated behind it, reading a data pad when Garrus found him.

Garrus had never been allowed in his father's office as a child, but that hadn't stopped him from sneaking a peek when work took his father to the Citadel. One of the large, bone-handled knives was slightly askew in its case; Garrus had picked the lock and tested the sharpness on a coconut-like fruit that grew in his mother's garden. He still had the scar across his knuckle on his left hand from where he had cut himself. He turned his attention to the tense figure that was his father, mentally bracing himself.

"Sit," Acanthus barked, not bothering to look up from his work. Turians, with their firm facial plates, relied more on eye contact and subvocals to communicate what they couldn't due to lacking facial expressions. His father purposely avoiding his eye contact was his way of telling Garrus just how little respect he had for his son.

Garrus sat in a chair opposite him, lacing his fingers together under his fringe.

"So," Acanthus growled, setting down the data pad and turning to assess his son. "Care to tell me where you've been for the past two years?" he sat rigidly in his chair, hands flat on the desk. Garrus could feel the tension rolling off of the older male.

"I was doing contract work in various places. And then I served on the Normandy," he supplied calmly.

"Ah yes. The new Normandy. The bastard child of human and turian design, built by a pro-humanity terrorist group to cart the amazing Commander Shepard around the galaxy on her mission to defeat the reapers." The older turian took a deep breath and rubbed his temple. "I'm sure you are aware, son, that I do not believe this reaper garbage, nor do I believe that a Vakarian should be serving on a human ship. You had a perfectly good job at C-Sec and you shit on it not once but twice. You're lucky Chellick took you back the second time around. I would have kicked your ass out the door to live on the streets." Garrus could tell his father was on a roll, and sat back further in his chair, casually stretching his legs out in front of him.

"A fucking human commander," Acanthus spat poisonously. Garrus bristled slightly, locking eyes with his father. I'm not going to let you win this round, Dad, he thought to himself. "What a disgrace. Do you know the clean up job I've had to do back here? I've seen the vids, Garrus. She totes you around like a pet."

"Never knew you to be so racist, Dad," Garrus said sarcastically.

"I don't have a problem with humans, Garrus," Acanthus spit back. "What I have a problem with is my son quitting a very promising career to travel around the galaxy assisting a pro-human terrorist group and a woman who faked her death for two years."

"She didn't fake her death," Garrus said violently, leaning forward. It was old news that Shepard was alive, and he was growing weary of telling the same story over and over. "The original Normandy went down over Alchera. Cerberus retrieved her body and rebuilt her."

Acanthus shook his head in disbelief. "You're not helping your case, son."

Garrus raked his fingers through his fringe in frustration.

"Look, I know it all seems like a terrible plot from a vid. I didn't believe it either, but I've fought alongside her enough to know if it's her or a clone or some drone wearing her body. It is Commander Shepard."

The elder Vakarian leaned back in his chair, studying his son.

"So, why didn't she report back to the Alliance? Why turn her back on her military?"

"Because the Alliance and the Council have been denying the reaper threat, even though one of the damn things almost destroyed the Presidium. The Alliance didn't even go looking for her after she died. The casket at her funeral was empty." He swallowed back the lump in his throat with a cough, hands balled into fists in his lap. "I was there when Sovereign tried to take over the Citadel, I saw it, and I helped take it down. But nobody is taking it seriously. Do you really think Saren was commanding geth? No, Saren was Sovereign's mouth piece, and the geth his minions."

Garrus waited as Acanthus processed the information.

"As impressive as all this is, and believe me, I will be looking into it more, I still am incredibly disappointed in you, Garrus." Ah, yes, Garrus thought. He's 'disappointed'. His tactics hadn't changed over the years, but Garrus had.

"Look, Dad, I get it. But have you ever considered the fact that I don't want you to live vicariously through me anymore?"

Acanthus fixed him with a blank stare. "Is that really what you think? That I push you because I'm dissatisfied with my own life?" The sudden silence that filled the room was deafening. Garrus was about to retort when Acanthus cut him off. "How dare you. All I wanted was for you to succeed. You showed such promise coming out of the Academy, and at C-Sec. You could have had a good life there. But instead, you go off the grid without any warning or clue of where you were, and I have to find out you're still alive by watching vids of you traipsing around the Citadel like a varren on a leash."

Garrus bristled. His father was baiting him, making him lose his cool. In his thirty-two years of life, Garrus had excelled at shoving his emotions deep down inside and putting on a blank face. He attempted it now, but was failing miserably.

"As I told mom, it was an honor to serve under Shepard, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. I plan on doing it again as soon as the Alliance releases her. There's bigger things out there, Dad, stuff that-"

"Enough!" Acanthus barked. "You will not be serving under that woman again. You will be staying here, and taking the job that Fedorian has graciously offered to you. You will reenlist in the reserves, and you will serve your home world like any respectable turian should. It's also time that you settled down and started a family."

Garrus could feel heat uncoiling in his stomach, burning with hate. If Acanthus noticed his son's anger, he ignored it.

"Duty, honor, family," he continued loudly. "No more galaxy hopping like some bachelor. You're lucky I have enough pull around here, so you don't have to mate with some lowlife backhills female."

Garrus could feel the heat rising from his stomach to the back of his neck, and he fought to keep his composure. Unfortunately, three years away from his family had given him three years to forget just how deeply his father disapproved of him. The assault of emotions threatened to eclipse Garrus' painfully crafted demeanor. The reason he had left home and never looked back was staring right at him with a violent look on his face.

"I'm sorry dad, but no," Garrus replied cooly. "I'll take the job from Fedorian, temporarily. But I am not reenlisting, nor will I be staying in Cipritine, or Palaven for that matter. Five years ago, I would have accepted your orders, but not now. And not ever. No more."

Acanthus gaped at him, wide-eyed. It was the first time Garrus could ever remember flat out telling his father no. It had caught him off guard, and inside Garrus was laughing.

"You are a fucking disgrace," his father growled at him, subvocals laced with mirth. "Get out of my office. You're to report to the capital building at 0800 tomorrow morning." Acanthus swiveled in his chair and returned to a data pad, effectively ending the conversation.

After a sleepless night filled with visions of reapers and Shepard lying dead in a pool of her own blood, Garrus found himself in the sprawling capitol building at 0745 the next day, wearing a military uniform for the first time in three years. He felt slightly vulnerable without his armor, and tugged at his collar nervously.

Inside the tall stone building was a flurry of activity; the front guards scanned him, approved his identification, gave him a door code, and pushed him through a long hall to a waiting area, where he sat, watching uniformed people hurry up and down the halls. Across from him was a large comm room, and over the activity he could hear the drone of flanged voices from behind the thick walls. Two guards stood on either side of the doors, looking incredibly bored.

"Garrus Vakarian? Is that you?"

A uniformed, female turian with a stack of data pads in her arms had stopped in front of him, a surprised smile on her face. Her pale plates and yellow clan markings practically glowed in the harsh light.

"Domitia? I didn't know you were working here!" Garrus stood to grasp her free arm in greeting.

"I do. I got stationed in Cipritine after I served a few tours on the Gallant. Spirits, I thought you would be on the Citadel!"

"Ah. Hmm. Yeah, I was. But then everything with Taetrus and well, where I am. I'm just waiting for my dad and the Primarch to get out of their meeting."

"Wow. Well it was good seeing you. I don't think we've talked since we served together on the Victory. Here," she said, shuffling the stack of data pads onto her left arm so she could bring up her omni-tool. "Call me. We can get drinks and catch up."

"Uh, thanks," Garrus muttered, bringing up his own omni-tool and accepting her code. "I'll do that."

"Nice seeing you, Garrus," she said more shyly, before walking away.

Garrus took a seat again, rubbing his gloved hands on his thighs nervously. Out of habit, he checked his messages to see if there was any word from Liara. Her long silence was starting to wear on his psyche; images of Shepard laying dead in a cell, a batarian standing over her with blood on his hands popped into his mind. He shook his head violently to clear it and sighed. As much as he disliked the Alliance right now, they would never let anything bad happen to her while she was on lockdown. But he sure was sick of seeing her dead every time he closed his eyes.

"Vakarian," came a clipped voice from the comm room. The doors had hissed opened, revealing his father and an older turian with dark plates and red clan markings.

"Primarch," Garrus said smartly, jumping to his feet and saluting.

"At ease, boy. How are you?" Fedorian beckoned Garrus to follow him down a hallway. "Your father was telling me you're back on Palaven for a bit."

"Yes, for now," Garrus replied carefully, unsure of exactly what Acanthus had told the Primarch as far as how permanent his residency would be.

Fedorian ushered them into a large office, beautifully furnished and complete with a sweeping view of the Cipritine skyline. He took a seat behind a large desk and motioned for Acanthus and Garrus to sit across from him.

"I expect when your Commander Shepard is released from her incarceration, you will be rejoining her on the Normandy?" Fedorian asked, not unkindly.

"That was my plan, sir." Next to him, Acanthus stiffened slightly.

"Well, I plan to make use of you while you're here. We've been hearing the reports about the reapers, and while I must admit the business with Saren and the geth was quite the story, I'm more worried about the Council's lack of support on the matter."

Garrus gaped at him, as did his father.

"Now, I've been running myself into the ground with this Taetrus fiasco, and I don't really have time to deal with the ensuing political shitstorm that will follow. But I'd like to offer you the position of Head Reaper Advisor. You'll be assigned a team, of course, and given the highest security clearances."

Acanthus, good turian as he was, made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Primarch, surely there is something more productive you can assign Garrus to."

"Unfortunately, Vakarian, I've seen the evidence. The threat is there, and it is very, very real. The Council may be ignoring what is right in front of their eyes, but I'll be damned before I let Palaven fall because of stupid politics. The time for action is now." Fedorian slammed his hand on the desk to emphasize his point. "Potitus!"

A young, nervous looking officer stepped into the room and saltued. "Sir?"

"I need you to take Garrus here down to processing and get him all the necessary security clearances. They'll know what to do."

"Sir." The officer saluted again, and motioned for Garrus to follow him.

"Uh, thank you, Primarch," Garrus said, standing to salute Fedorian. The Primarch clapped him on the shoulder with a smile.

"I'm counting on you, son."

"Sir, I will do my best."

Processing was down yet another hall to a small room with white, sterile walls, much like a hospital. There were large windows, but not the sweeping view Fedorian's office had. Potitus, who turned out to be quite talkative, guided Garrus to a chair next to a terminal.

"A nurse will come and take your biometrics and such. DNA, ocular scans, cornea measurements. They'll also take blood samples. Why? I don't know." The young turian rocked back and forth impatiently. "Reaper Advisor? I didn't even know that was a rank. Although I've only been out of the academy for two years, so I wouldn't know anyway."

The kid was giving Garrus a headache, and he was about to suggest the officer go find the nurse when she walked through the door pushing a cart full of various and painful looking utensils.

"Ah, this is my cue to leave," Potitus said nervously, and saluted Garrus before rushing out of the room. The nurse busied herself with rolling up the sleeve of Garrus' uniform, swabbing an antiseptic wipe over the exposed skin.

"I'm going to remove your omni-tool implant, and you'll be fitted with a new one," she said kindly, unclipping the omnitool interface and slipping a sharp tool under the skin of his right forearm with a pinch. When she retracted it, his orange comm chip was clamped to the end. He felt his earpiece pop as the connection from the chip to his skin was disconnected.

"Uh, what about-"

"The new one has all of the codes you need." She handed him a new omnitool interface. "It's the latest model, actually. Since you'll be given the highest security clearances, everything that is sent or received on this will be heavily encrypted. It's also resistant to radiation, so you won't have to worry about that either."

Garrus felt a curl of panic in his stomach. He had been off Palaven for so long, he forgot the planet's natural radiation would interfere with any tech that was not treated properly. Liara knew his omni identicode, but he was never supplied with hers, to protect her identity. His reply to her last message was undeliverable, and now she had no way of contacting him. Well shit, Garrus thought sadly. Although, now he had a reason to not call Domitia.

The nurse placed his new omni-tool chip carefully under the skin of his forearm, sealing the puncture with medigel. It would take several hours for the chip to sync with his body's natural electricity and neural network, which left him comm-less and without a translator. Luckily, everyone in the building seemed to be well versed in the Palaven common tongue. One battle at a time, Vakarian, he reminded himself.

"Now," she continued kindly, "I'm going to draw some blood, and then we'll take some ocular scans and cornea measurements." the needle she held in her hand was large and ominous, gleaming in the sterile light.

Garrus leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes wearily, silently sending up a prayer for patience.

Footnote: This has been so much fun to write. I think I enjoy taking a few liberties as far as plot filling goes. I've read many, many accounts of Garrus' time on Palaven/Menae during Shep's incarceration, so this was my little spin on it. I think I'll continue it for another chapter.

I wanted to write Garrus' mom as a more present, witty character (where else would he get his sense of humor? Certainly not from Acanthus).

Also, does anyone know what Fedorian actually looks like? I couldn't find a straight answer, so I made it up.

Oh! And as far as the names go for the few OCs I have in this chapter and possibly beyond: I've been using Greek and Roman names and surnames.

-Garrus' father, Acanthus, means "thorn".

-His mother, Aella, means "whirlwind".

-Domitia means "to tame".

-Pontitus is just a random surname I picked up.

So what do you guys think? More Garrus on Palaven for the next chapter?